


Silver Tongue

by TopHatCat



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: (my favorite tag), (my other favorite tag), Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Hosea Matthews Whump, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Open ended, Racism, mouth horror, vandermatthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHatCat/pseuds/TopHatCat
Summary: “𝘖𝘩, 𝘩𝘦’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴.  𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴...𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦.”Lenny and Hosea get accosted by some bounty hunters...and in an effort to save the young man's life, Hosea incurs the wrath of the boss hunter to a painful degree.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Leonard "Lenny" Summers, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 14
Kudos: 48





	Silver Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 for 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 and 𝐌𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (also some 𝐑𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐦). Basically, if tongues, gore, or tongue-related-gore grosses you out, maybe avoid this fic. I wrote this to cure my block (because whump always helps) and I apologize to all my Hosea stans out there.

Not long ago, Lenny had been riding down a country road back toward camp, laughing with Hosea about something that he couldn’t remember the details of. Now, he was sitting in Maggie’s saddle with his hands in the air, looking at the rifles that were pointed at him and the conman. 

“Just as I thought,” the man who seemed to be in charge said, “Mr. Hosea Matthews. And who’s this? Another fool who you’ve taken in with your silver tongue? Why you following him, lad?” 

“His kind’s all fools,” another man said, and a ripple of cruel laughter went through the other bounty hunters. 

There were five of them total, lurking in the shadows of the trees where the branches hung low over the path. It was just before sunset, and the men had stepped out on the path with no warning or hint that they had been hiding in the brush. Lenny cast a look at Hosea and saw the conman’s jaw tighten at the insult aimed at his young friend.

“And who am I speaking to?” Hosea asked, and the man in charge touched the brim of his hat.

“That name is Lorn, and I’m the fellow who’s going to bring you in.”

“I must ask you gentleman to let us pass,” Hosea said, a tremor of fear in his tone that Lenny knew was carefully calculated. "I’m not the man you’re looking for...and this fellow here is simply a farm hand. We’re heading home, into Rhodes. We can show you the way, if you like. I’m sure the sheriff could help you find the folks you’re after.” 

The bounty hunters exchanged glances until Lorn shook his head. “Mister, you may be a silver-tongued fox, but you ain’t talking me out of anything. Come on then, get off your horses, nice and slow now.” 

Lenny looked to Hosea, only dismounting when the conman gave him a nod. The bounty hunters immediately moved forward, triumphant in their steps, and Lenny’s entire body itched as he waited for Hosea to make the first move. 

The signal came soon enough. As one of the men reached Hosea, he let out a cough, then another, and his hand went to his chest as he bent double, lungs straining to eject whatever it was that obstructed them. 

“Hey,” the bounty hunter snapped, and the barrel of his gun lowered a fraction. “Stop that, old man.” 

Between one breath and the next, Hosea’s coughs vanished, replaced by the crack of a gunshot as he drew his cattleman, sending a bullet directly into the man’s gut. Lenny sprung into action, drawing his own gun, but it was swiftly knocked from his hand and he was instead forced to grab the barrel of a rifle as it swung around toward his chest. He grappled for a moment, sweat building on his brow as he fought to keep the rifle from going off in his face. Not far away he could hear Hosea set off another shot, and then a grunt of someone being hit square in the middle. He hoped it wasn’t Hosea, but he was having enough of a struggle on his own without helping the older man. 

“Just grab him!” he heard Lorn bark, “He’s old- just- just pin him down!” 

Too late Lenny recognized the shuffle of footsteps behind him, and something hard connected with the back of his skull. When the world stopped spinning, he was on his knees, the barrel of a rifle pressed up against the back of his neck. A few feet away, Hosea was on his back, one man pinning his arms, another his legs as he squirmed beneath them. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lorn growled, taking off his hat and stalking over to the conman. “How hard is it to take down one guy?” 

“Plenty hard,” Hosea snarled, his finger twitching toward the trigger of the gun he was still holding, but the bounty hunter’s boot came down on it, and Lenny winced upon hearing the crunch of bones. Hosea let out a stricken gasp, but didn’t cry out, and the man kicked the gun away into the grass. 

“Enough of your lip.” Satisfied by Hosea’s silence, Lorn turned toward Lenny and studied the young man as though he were some sort of annoying bug. “We got quite the price on the old man’s head, but nothing on yours. So why don’t we get rid of the extra baggage and have a little fun?” 

He motioned to one of the men, who went his horse and unhooked something from the animal’s saddle. When he stepped back to the path, Lenny’s blood ran cold upon seeing a long length of rope in his hands. On the ground, Hosea began to struggle again, calling out, 

“Lorn! He’s just a boy! He ain’t got no part in any of it! I don’t even know him, I was conning him too!” 

The bounty hunter with the rope walked over to a tree, tossing the cord over a sturdy branch. Lorn turned around to face Hosea with a shrug as the conman was pulled up to his knees. “Maybe so. But any day I get to hang up someone like _him_ is a good one. Now shut up.” 

“Bastard!” Hosea yelled, his tone breaking for the first time as Lenny was yanked to his feet and pushed to where a loop now hung from the tree. His heart was beating so hard he thought his ribs would break from the force, but he didn’t know what to _do_ , didn’t know how to fight without getting Hosea killed. 

_‘I guess, if I die, then he might have a chance,’_ the young man thought as he stepped up on a rock at the urging of a rifle at his back. _‘Dutch or...Arthur or somebody will realize we’re gone and get after him. They don’t want him dead, not like they do me.’_

The idea that he was about to die seemed foreign, even as the rope was put around his neck and tightened. His gaze went to Hosea and the conman’s wild, fearful eyes seemed fuller with emotion than his own heart did, as fast as it beat. 

Lorn stepped forward a bit, breaking the eye contact between the two friends. “When I tell you too, you’re gonna step off that rock, you hear?” 

Lenny didn’t acknowledge the order, eyes looking at anything but the man’s face, and the bounty hunter moved nearer. 

“You _hear_ , boy?” 

“What kind of a man are you?” 

Hosea’s words were spat out like they tasted foul in his mouth. Lorn turned away from Lenny and the young man could see Hosea again, still kneeling but with his head up, glaring at the bounty hunter. 

“What’d you say?” 

Hosea didn’t hesitate. “I said, what kind of a man are you? Hanging a boy because of his color...you’re worth less than him. A thousand times less.” 

Lorn moved toward the conman a step, hand on his gun. “I thought I told you to shut up before.” 

Hosea didn’t flinch. “I don’t see why a man who’s lesser than the lowest criminal should be able to tell _me_ to be quiet. I’d take an order from Satan himself sooner than I would you, mister.” 

Lorn’s mouth narrowed to a fine line and the rest of the bounty hunters watched him, waiting for his reaction. Lenny was stunned by the harsh words coming from the conman’s mouth, but as Lorn’s face turned redder, he understood; Hosea _wanted_ the man to become angry, wanted the wrath to be taken out on himself rather than his young friend. 

_‘Come on, Hosea,’_ he thought desperately, _‘Just leave it! No sense in both us dyin’!’_

But Hosea’s plan had already worked. Lorn stalked over to the conman, fingers grasping gray hair and yanking his head back to look up. “Ain’t so silver a tongue after all,” he hissed, “Gotten all tarnished, has it? Well...we’ll take care of that for you!” 

His boot connected with Hosea’s chest, sending the man to his back in the dirt. The others looked a little concerned now, and one of the men dared to ask, 

“Uh, boss? We get more money if he’s alive.” 

A wicked smile flashed across Lorn’s face before his expression settled to a dark scowl. “Oh, he’ll be alive, boys. Just a little less...talkative.” Drawing his gun, he aimed it at Hosea’s head, freezing the man in his motion to sit up. “Cut out his tongue.” 

“NO!” Lenny almost surged forward, only catching himself when he remembered the rope on his neck, and his rather precarious situation. “STOP IT!” 

But they ignored him. One man grabbed Hosea’s arms, a second his legs, and Lorn stepped aside so a third could move in, a large, sharp hunting knife in his grasp. Hosea’s face had gone white as snow, but he didn’t struggle. Indeed, the spasms of his muscles seemed more out of instinct than conscious effort, as if he’d already decided he’d do what it would take... 

_‘...to save me.’_

Lenny cast a glance around. Every one of the bounty hunters were focused on Hosea; even the man who covered Lenny was watching as his companion forced the conman’s jaw open wide, so wide it seemed it might disconnect from his skull. Lenny tore his gaze away, eyes jumping downward to the man’s gun, only inches away. His hands weren’t tied; if he could just reach out, just a little bit.... 

“Don’t you move,” the bounty hunter snarled at him, taking a step away, and Lenny settled back again. “We ain’t done with you yet.” 

Hosea’s scream startled both of them, the sound so sudden and piercing in the quiet woods, and a stone dropped heavy in Lenny’s stomach. 

“Hold his head!” Lorn yelled as the conman twisted and writhed under the hands that pinned him down, now unable to contain the want to get away as metal sliced through flesh. “Come on, cut it all the way out!” 

The cold feeling that had thus kept Lenny slow and hesitant melted under boiling anger. As Hosea’s crisp screams turned gargled, Lenny took a deep breath and leapt to the side. It didn’t matter that the rope dug into his skin, cutting off all air; his hands were around a gun, and then a hunting knife. As the breath was knocked from him and his toes stretched to feel ground beneath them, the bullet sank deep into its owner's skull. Seconds later, the edge of the knife sliced through cord, sending Lenny tumbling to the ground, heaving in air through his abused throat. But there was no time for breathing, only surviving, and he staggered to his feet, gun aimed at Lorn. 

The bounty hunters all stared at him and, under the men’s grasp, Hosea lay shuddering and making choked sounds that set Lenny’s teeth on edge. The young man flicked the barrel of the gun toward Lorn. 

“All you- offa him or your boss dies.” When they hesitated, Lenny took a step forward, finger pulling back a fraction on the trigger. “Right now!” 

They listened that time, lining up in a short row. Moving to one of their horses, who blessedly didn’t kick him as he fished around in the saddlebag, Lenny pulled out three pairs of handcuffs. Tossing them at the men’s feet, he ordered, 

“Throw your guns into the woods and handcuff yourselves together.” 

“You’ll regret this, boy,” Lorn snarled, then laughed. “Matthews already does!” 

It took all of Lenny’s strength of will not to look at where Hosea lay. He could hear wet breathing, so that meant the conman was alive at least, and that’s what mattered at the moment. 

“Shut up and do as I said,” he growled. “Hurry!” 

In a few moments the men were handcuffed, and it didn’t take Lenny long to knock them out with swift blows to the head. Messy, but effective, and at last he could turn his focus to Hosea. 

The conman hadn’t moved an inch, still on his back, and Lenny kneeled beside him, terrified of what he would see. Hosea’s head was tipped to the side and the young man reached out, but a shaking hand snapped to his wrist, stopping his touch. Hosea’s eyes were wide and overflowing with tears, but he said nothing, nothing at all, his jaw clenched shut, and Lenny felt the rock in his stomach grow. 

“I gotta-,” he stumbled over the words. “I gotta take a look, Mr. Matthews. Please.” 

Hosea didn’t nod, didn’t move his head at all, but his hold on Lenny loosened. Swallowing harshly, the young man took the conman’s jaw carefully in his grasp and opened his mouth. 

As soon as Hosea’s teeth were parted, a rush of blood poured out down his cheek to his ear and hair, and Lenny had to take in a sharp breath to keep himself steady. When the blood was mostly drained away, he ducked his head, trying to see what he really needed to know. When he found it, he couldn’t help himself and turned to the side, bent over as bile surged its way up his throat. 

Hosea let out a deep groan, and Lenny hastily wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s still connected,” he croaked. “Just a bit. I think I have to cut the rest of it off.” 

Hosea’s eyes drifted shut at the statement, and Lenny squeezed his shoulder tightly. “We have to do it fast, Mr. Matthews. You’re losing a lot of blood already and we can’t stay out here.” 

He didn’t wait for agreement this time. He drew his own knife; damn the one that lay bloody where the bounty hunter had dropped it, and clenched his jaw tight in preparation of the surgery he was about to perform. “I’m doing it, okay? Don’t move.” 

He slid the knife past Hosea’s lips and teeth, and, as much as he detested doing it, took hold of the tongue with his other hand. A small bit of muscle still connected it to the rest, and when he touched the blade to it, Hosea jerked and wailed. 

“You’re okay,” Lenny said, not even knowing what he was saying but hoping his voice carried some semblance of comfort. Pulling the knife away again, he shifted position so Hosea’s head was locked in place between his knees. He needed the man as still as possible; it would do no good to cut up the rest of the conman’s mouth any more than it already was. 

“Okay, here we go,” he said, his tone wavering but his hands shockingly steady. The knife reentered Hosea's mouth and Lenny swallowed every bit of hesitation and disgust, focusing solely on the logistics of the task. “Three, two, one, now!” 

He severed the flesh in one smooth motion, withdrawing the knife immediately after as Hosea screamed and fought to get away for a brief moment before stilling, save for erratic spasms of his body. The young man suddenly realized he was still holding the severed tongue and flung it to the grass, trembling a bit and wiping his hand on his shirt. 

The amount of blood welling up in the conman's mouth became even more concerning, and Lenny quickly tilted Hosea’s head to the side so he wouldn’t drown. Sheathing the knife with now-shaking fingers, the young man tore his orange bandana from his neck and shoved it into the other man’s mouth, ignoring the lurch of pain when the cloth came in contact with the raw end of the severed muscle. 

They had to get out of there. It was a miracle already that no one had come down the path, and Lenny didn’t fancy being caught in a situation like this by anyone, law or not. He moved back from Hosea, who rolled onto his side and pressed a hand to his cloth in his mouth, making pained whimpering sounds Lenny had never dreamed he’d hear from the conman. 

“Camp’s not far,” he said. “We’ll get there, and someone will know what to do.” 

Hosea didn’t respond or make to rise, so Lenny grabbed hold of his shoulders and hauled him to his feet, keeping a tight grip as the man swayed on his feet. “Can you ride?” 

Once he was standing, Hosea’s other hand locked on Lenny’s shoulder and he stared the young man in the eyes before giving a small nod. Together, they got him on Silver Dollar’s back and Lenny mounted Maggie, kicking the horse into a walk. 

‘ _Just let us make it to camp,’_ he thought, trying to keep one eye on the road and the other on Hosea, where the conman was listing in the saddle, guiding Silver in an uneven line. Lenny reached over and took the reins, receiving barely more than a weary glance for his actions. _‘Dutch will know what to do.’_

The camp's firelight through the trees was like a blessing from heaven. Lenny though he might just cry when Javier called out, “Who’s there?” from where he stood guard in the trees. 

“Lenny!” he called, “Is Dutch in camp?” 

“What the hell-?” Javier’s stern tone broke into shock upon seeing the two of them, particularly Hosea holding a blood-soaked cloth to his mouth and sporting a stream of the crimson liquid down his face, neck and chest. “What happened?” 

“Bounty hunters,” Lenny said, urging Maggie faster and pulling Silver along behind. They were nearly in camp now. “Dutch! Dutch! Anyone- Arthur!” 

It was late, the mood quiet, but everyone woke up without hesitation at the panic in the young man’s voice. Dutch came pushing out of his tent as Arthur stood from his cot, dropping his journal to the mattress. Lenny reined in the horses right in the center of camp, sliding off Maggie as Dutch approached, each step the outlaw made coming faster and faster as he took in the scene. 

“What happened?” he shouted before he even got to them, and Lenny rounded the horses to go to Silver's side. “Mr. Summers, _what happened_?” 

His voice was loud in Lenny’s ears as the young man pulled himself up behind Hosea. “Bounty hunters,” he explained when the outlaw reached the horse. “They were gonna lynch me; they cut out his tongue!” 

Dutch face whitened and behind him, those that had begun to gather let out a collective gasp. Lenny wrapped his arms around Hosea’s middle, furious at how slow they were moving. “He’s bleedin’ a lot! We need to do something!” 

Dutch was still staring up at Hosea and Arthur shouldered his way past the man, saying, “Well, get him down then!” 

He reached up and Lenny nearly wept as he finally got Hosea down into Arthur’s arms. Susan pushed her way through the others assembled and shook Dutch’s arm roughly. “Pearson! I need hot embers! Miss Roberts, find a metal spoon and make sure it's _clean_! Dutch, are you helping Arthur carrying this man or do I need to ask Bill?” 

Her orders seemed to be exactly what Dutch needed to snap out of the daze he’d fallen into, and he immediately moved to Hosea’s other side, slinging a strong arm around his partner’s narrow waist. Hosea slumped against Dutch, getting blood all over the outlaw’s white shirt, and his hand dropped from his mouth as the adrenaline that had kept him on his horse rapidly faded. Dutch lifted his own hand to the bloody cloth, cradling Hosea’s jaw and looking past the conman to Arthur. 

“My tent,” he said, and they half-led, half-carried their injured friend across to the structure while Lenny rushed to push the flaps open ahead of them. The young man’s heart still pounded hard in his chest as he watched Dutch and Arthur sit the conman down on the edge of the cot. Arthur made to lay him down, but Dutch stopped him with a shake of his head. 

“No, he’ll drown in his own blood.” 

Hosea made a garbled sound past the cloth and Dutch’s hand, and the outlaw sank to his knees, looking up into his partner’s face. The conman made a frantic gesture, an incomprehensible signal that Lenny couldn’t understand. 

“Hush, my d-, hush, my friend,” Dutch replied, squeezing his knee. “I know, I know. Abigail is coming now.” 

Arthur had moved to the tent entrance, keeping the others out, but he let Abigail, Pearson and John in, the rest of the camp peering past the man to try and see inside. Pearson set down the bucket he was carrying while John touched Hosea’s shoulder briefly before retreating to the corner Lenny stood in. The bucket Pearson had brought was full of hot embers, and on the table, Abigail laid down a small, clean spoon. 

“Everyone unneeded, get out,” Susan snapped, pointing at the exit, and Pearson and Abigail left, the latter patting Arthur on the back as she did. “You too, Lenny, out!” 

“Let the kid stay,” Arthur countered as he closed the flaps, and Susan shook her head in annoyance but didn’t argue, instead turning her full attention on their patient. Picking up the spoon, she put on a glove Arthur handed her and held the utensil to the flames that burned in the bucket. When the metal had taken on a red glow, she nodded to Dutch. “Ready.” 

“Now we’ll lay you down,” Dutch said, his hand coming up to cup Hosea’s head as he helped the man get down to the mattress. Slowly, carefully, he removed the bandana from Hosea’s mouth. The orange cloth was mostly red now, and the outlaw discarded it to the floor, his eyes locked on the damage it had been hiding. If his face had been pale before, it was white as a sheet now, and his hand kneaded into the conman’s upper arm. 

“God, Hosea,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’ll kill the bastards that done this.” 

“Later,” Susan snapped, “Let’s get this over with first.. Arthur, hold his legs; we’re gonna need it.” 

Lenny watched Arthur cross the room with a determined expression that did a lot to hide the concern lurking underneath. The man sat on the cot, scooting to the other side so his own legs trapped Hosea’s to the bed. Dutch gently put the conman’s arms to his side, straddling the man’s torso to keep him pinned, and then let out a huff of impatient breath. 

“Lenny, hold his head. John, help your brother.” 

Both young men sprang into action, and Lenny crossed to the cot, kneeling at the end of it and putting his palms to the sides of Hosea’s head. The conman didn’t look at him, eyes locked on Dutch’s as the outlaw’s were locked on his. Their gaze didn’t break even as Susan approached with the spoon and pulled Hosea’s mouth open. 

“This is going to hurt like all hell,” she warned, and Dutch’s fingers dug harder into the conman’s shoulders. 

“Just do it,” he ordered. “Before he loses too much blood.” 

Susan leaned over, setting her jaw and carefully putting the utensil between Hosea’s teeth. “And here we go...now!” 

The red-hot metal hit the raw edge of tongue with a sizzling sound that had Lenny wincing. Then the noise was lost under the scream that left Hosea’s lungs, and the young man clamped his hands to the conman's temples, practically hugging his head to keep him still. Arthur and John redoubled their efforts as Hosea kicked and thrashed, and Dutch’s thumb curved into his lower jaw to keep his mouth wide as Susan did her work. 

“I need to reheat it,” the woman said breathlessly, pulling back and wiping her hand across her brow. “One more time should do the trick.” 

Hosea was gasping and moaning, his skin slick with sweat that made Lenny’s hands slip. Dutch leaned down, pressing his forehead to the conman’s and murmuring quiet words that sounded like reassurances. 

“One more time, one more time and it’ll be over. You’ll survive this, Hosea; everything will be okay. You can rest after this, and it’ll all be done, I promise.” 

Hosea’s eyelids fluttered like he was falling asleep, but when Susan returned, they flew open wide and his entire body began to tremble. Dutch pulled away, caressing the swollen jaw before opening his mouth again to repeat the process. This time, Hosea’s cries cut off partway through, his eyes rolled back but not quite closed, and he went limp and began shivering when Susan finally drew back for good. 

“Well that’s that,” she said, sounding exhausted as Lenny felt. “I’ll get some alcohol to clean his mouth and numb the pain.” 

She left the tent and Lenny got up, unsteady on his feet. Every muscle felt sore with effort and he found his teeth were gritted together. Arthur and John didn’t look much better, and the younger brother ran a hand over his face before asking, 

“He good now?” 

Dutch carefully got off Hosea and sat at the edge of the cot. He softly touched the unconscious man's cheek, and drying blood came away on his palm when he moved his hand back. 

“Oh, he’s a tough one,” Dutch said, “He’ll be fine.” 

“He won’t be able to talk no more,” John said, and Dutch turned a glare on the young man. 

“We’ll get to that when we get to it,” he said sternly. “Ain’t nothing changing.” 

The outlaw didn’t see the look the brothers shared behind his back, but Lenny saw, and his heart sank. The silver-tongued fox had lost his voice. 

“Come on, kid,” Arthur said, and Lenny realized he was being spoken to. “There ain’t nothing more we can do here.” 

The three young men left the tent and walked a few steps away, out of earshot of Dutch. Then John shook his head. 

“He’s foolin’ himself if he thinks Hosea’s gonna be the same.” 

“He won't be much different,” Arthur said roughly, “Just...won’t be able to talk.” 

“You _know_ that’s always been his thing though,” John argued. “The talkin’ the connin’. Maybe Dutch didn’t lose him, but Hosea lost a lot.” 

Arthur crossed his arms, staring away toward the rest of camp, where a few of the others sitting at the fire kept throwing curious glances at the three. “At least he ain’t dead.” 

“What’s this gonna do to his head,” John said in a low voice, “To both of ‘em,” and Lenny suddenly felt he was part of a conversation he had no business being in. He began to drift away, but then Arthur turned to him with warm eyes and a small smile. 

“Lenny. Thanks.” 

“I should’ve stopped them sooner,” the young man admitted, and Arthur shook his head. 

“I know you did what you could. We mighta lost two good men instead of a tongue if it weren’t for you.” 

Lenny smiled wearily and Arthur’s hand landed on his shoulder, giving it a small pat. “Go on,” the outlaw said kindly, “You can tell us the story later, if there ain’t no danger to us not knowing now. Otherwise, go rest.” 

“Just some fool bounty hunters,” Lenny sighed. “They don’t know where camp is.” 

“Then catch a nap, kid.” 

Lenny watched the brothers walk away across camp, lost deeper in conversation that he’d ever seen them. With a final look at the closed flaps of Dutch’s tent and feeling the knot of guilt slowly tying itself in his stomach, he turned toward the warmth of the scout fire. Right then, he didn’t feel like recounting the day to anyone; all he wanted to do was sleep. 

\- 

Hosea woke up to pain. 

It wasn’t the sharp, searing experience he had passed out to, but rather a steady burn, like embers in his mouth. His entire face and neck felt hot, and he blearily wondered if someone had left a lamp burning too close to the bed. Then the odd sensation of _emptiness_ in his mouth came crashing to his shoulders and he pushed himself to a sitting position with a gasp. Nausea washed through him and he bent over, hands gripping the blankets until it passed, leaving a sour taste of whiskey in his mouth and the desire to drink some fresh water. 

But while his body considered these things, his mind had not left the void behind his teeth. Lifting a hand, he was hesitant as he pressed fingertips to his lips, but far too curious not to go further in his exploration. Parting his teeth, he slipped his fingers into his mouth, probing at the space where something used to be. He was almost up to the third knuckle when he found the blunt end of what remained of his tongue. It hurt to touch, terribly so, abused by a careless knife and hot metal, but some horrible fascination kept his fingers feeling it, poking at it, trying to recognize what had happened. It moved, a little, and he jerked his hand away with sudden realization. 

“Hello,” he whispered, but it sounded more like ‘heh’oo’, and panic began shoving it’s way into his stomach. “Hello, hello, hello,” he repeated, over and over, but the word didn’t fix itself, remaining a mangled sound that stuck in his throat and choked him. “My name is Hosea Matthews.” 

_My ame ih Ho’ea Ma’ew_

_‘It’s not that bad, it’s not that bad,’_ he thought, but the panic attack clawing its way into his chest thought otherwise. His heart beat liked it wanted to burst and the nausea returned, making the room spin until he had to lie back on the mattress for fear of throwing up. He turned onto his side, knees drawing to his chest as his entire body began to tingle, feeling numb like a limb that had fallen asleep. Shoving his fingers back into his mouth, he pushed too far, nearly gagging as he felt for the stub of his tongue. 

_‘It’s not that bad....’_

\- 

Dutch entered the tent to find Hosea curled up on the cot and the blankets kicked to the floor. Setting the cup of water to the table, the outlaw leaned over, pressing a hand to the sleeping man’s cheek. He was warm from the trauma his body had been through, but not hot with fever, for which Dutch was grateful. 

_‘He’ll be okay,’_ he thought, taking note of the way the man’s fingers rested partway in his mouth. _‘...He woke up while I was gone.’_

Removing Hosea’s hand from his mouth, Dutch gently placed it on the pillow, then took up the man’s other hand, the one wrapped in bandages. There wouldn’t be any lasting damage for the fingers, just the inability to hold anything properly for a few weeks, and the wounded hand was Hosea’s left, not his dominant right.

“Small miracles,” Dutch muttered, adjusting Hosea’s arm so it wasn’t painful. Picking up the blanket from the floor, he draped it over the conman’s legs and then set himself down in a chair with a book.

But he couldn’t concentrate.

_“He won’t be able to talk no more.”_

John’s words echoed in his head and he lowered the book again.

What did it matter if Hosea couldn’t talk? They could still laugh together, still read books together, still go out riding and fishing together. None of that would change.

 _‘No more cons,’_ Dutch thought, his eyes drifting over to the man in the bed. _‘No more talking up a rich man, no more hilarious performances. No whispered conversations at night when he’s not supposed to be in my bed.’_ He leaned forward almost unconsciously, and ran light fingers through Hosea’s hair. _‘No more wild-spun tales or elaborate yarns told for business or jest….”_

All at once he wanted to hear Hosea speak, _needed_ to hear him say even a single word, just to _know for sure_. He whispered his name once, then a little louder, and accompanied the sound with a slight shake of the man’s shoulder. Hosea let out a sleepy groan and guilt for waking him poked at Dutch, but it was quickly overcome by apprehension climbing its way up and down his spine when Hosea turned over to stare blearily at him.

“Hmm?” the conman mumbled, and Dutch’s stomach lifted into his chest.

“You awake, old girl?” he asked, unsure.

Hosea furrowed his brow, eyes falling shut again as he frowned against something...pain, or a headache perhaps. He made to sit up and Dutch rose quickly, getting him into a sitting position before he could put weight on his injured hand.

“How do you feel?” the outlaw asked carefully, and Hosea’s eyes opened again. He shook his head and Dutch frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Hosea, please talk to me.”

The conman shook his head again, more fiercely now, and cast about the room, looking for something. He pointed, and Dutch followed his finger to their records book lying open on the table. Retrieving it, Dutch sat back on the bed and watched as Hosea wrote something on the page. When he turned the book around, the word ‘HURTS’ was written in harshly drawn capital letters, screaming at him from the paper.

A spring of relief welled up inside Dutch. Maybe...maybe he could talk, just not yet. Not while he was in pain. The outlaw clung to that thought as he nodded and squeezed Hosea’s leg reassuringly through the blanket.

“Okay, Hosea. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

-

A week passed by without a word.

Hosea did develop a fever, a low one, that trapped him in Dutch’s bed for four nights straight. He accepted all visitors, however, and played numerous games of dominos with Arthur, Tilly and Abigail, several rounds of checkers with Jack, and a game of poker with Pearson and Uncle that lasted far too long into the night.

He absolutely refused to let anyone else cut up his food for him, and became furious at Dutch the first time he came in with a plate of food already mashed. Dutch hated the switch from loud angry Hosea to silent angry Hosea. He wished the man would have yelled at him instead of the quiet glare that he got.

On the eight day, Dutch had had enough.

The two of them were sitting outside Dutch’s tent in folding chairs, reading. The atmosphere of the camp was calm, tranquil. There hadn’t been much rough-housing or turmoil within the gang for several days; everyone was aware that Dutch, and Susan, were ready to throw hands with anyone that distrubed Hosea’s recovery.

Now, however, Dutch- impatient Dutch -was tired of waiting.

“Say something to me,” he said as the warm afternoon air settled heavy around them. “Anything.”

Hosea only shook his head, not looking up from the book in his hands, but his brow pinched where it had been relaxed a second ago.

That response wasn’t satisfactory, and Dutch closed his book with a snap. “I _understand_ you’re scared,” he continued in a low tone, “But you can’t avoid it forever.”

There was still no verbal response, but the tensing of Hosea’s shoulders and the way his eyes stopped moving over the pages was loud enough. Dutch sighed and reached over to gently run the backs of his knuckles over Hosea’s jaw. The swelling had gone down considerably, but the conman still hadn’t gotten around to shaving. Even after a week, only a thin stubble peppered his face; but then, he’d never been able to grow a full beard. “I _know_ you; you’re not in the pain you were.”

Hosea pulled his head back from Dutch’s touch and reached into his breast pocket for the small pad of paper and pen he’d taken to carrying. In a moment he had the word ‘NO’ on the page, underlined three times. Dutch’s arms crossed tightly.

“You denying me the opportunity to help you?”

_NO_ _._

“Hosea…..”

_NO_ _._

“Come on, just say my name-.”

The pad of paper went flying past Dutch’s ear and he flinched. When he looked up again, Hosea was storming into the tent, slinging the flaps shut behind him. A quick look around revealed that no one had seen the argument, except for Lenny, who was eating a can of peaches at a table. The young man swiftly averted his eyes when he saw Dutch’s gaze fall on him. Rising to his feet, the outlaw entered the tent after his partner.

He caught Hosea’s wrist just as the conman was about to push through the other side of the tent. “I shouldn’t have pressed the matter,” he said quickly when Hosea tried to pull away. “You deserve respect, but you can’t stay silent for the rest of your life. You have to _try_.”

As he spoke, the fight left Hosea and he sank down to the cot. His eyes danced around the room in a way that was becoming all-too familiar, and Dutch picked up a pen and paper, handing it over.

_I have tried._

“And what happened?” Dutch followed the pen’s movement but couldn’t decipher what words were spilling onto the paper until they were shown to him. 

_I can talk a little. It sounds...odd._

“Then why not speak to me?”

There was hesitation as Hosea wrote out the next phrase, slowness to his movement when he turned it so Dutch could see, and the outlaw’s heart melted upon reading the tiny, delicate letters.

_I can’t say your name._

Dutch couldn’t help it; he laughed. Hosea’s eyes widened, looking so offended that Dutch had to quickly sit down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders to keep him from getting up and leaving.

“No, no, darling,” he hurried to explain, “I’m not laughing at you, I just….” He wiped his eyes, and kissed Hosea’s cheek, still smiling. “I thought you had some terrible, horrible reason for not wanting to talk to me. I’m relieved.” The tension in his body was gone, replaced by fondness for the man beside him. “My sunlight, I don’t care if you can say my name or not; the fact that you are here, _wanting_ to say it….” He kissed him again. “That’s all I care about.”

Hosea didn’t relax in his grip and wrote down something else. _I’m not young. I can’t muscle my way through a robbery like the boys, I_ _~~can~~ _ _could only use my voice. I’m useless._

“You’re not,” Dutch said, and Hosea leaned away to look him in the eye with an expression Dutch could understand without the use of words.

_Bullshit._

“You’re _not._ But have you considered that maybe retirement has finally come for you,” Dutch said, and he meant it as a joke, but Hosea quickly wrote down a word.

 _Us_ _._

It was something they had been talking about for a long time, but a lot of things had happened since they first spawned the idea of finding land and settling down; Blackwater, for one. Non-stop running for weeks, months, perhaps years, if Dutch allowed himself to think about it. Not always running from the law, but from an idea. But time was passing and things were changing, not only in their group but in the world itself. 

He’d always been scared of change. 

Pulling Hosea closer, he planted a softer kiss on his hairline, and this time the conman rested his head on the outlaw’s shoulder.

“Someday,” he said. “We’ll get a nice little ranch...with plenty of horses for Arthur. Maybe have some chickens too.”

Hosea hummed softly, relaxing against Dutch. The sounds of the camp and the lapping of water at the shore were soft around them, like a shield against all the cruelty that existed in the world. As they sat in comfortable silence, Dutch’s gaze drifted downward to the paper in Hosea’s lap.

 _Us_ _._

-

Lenny was sitting on a fallen log overlooking the lake when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He watched as Hosea sat down beside him, then turned back to the open water.

“Hey there,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t come see you much….”

“...on’t be ‘owwy.”

Lenny looked up, eyes widening. “You can talk?”

Hosea raised a hand, putting two fingers together so they almost touched, but not quite. _A little._ Lenny grinned.

“Well, that’s fine!”

Then his smile faltered and his shoulders sank. “I, uh, I been thinking about when we were attacked. Wondering if I could have done something different, or moved faster, then you’d be alright.”

Hosea’s knee nudged his, and Lenny lifted his gaze to the conman’s face, which was kind but stern. Shaking his head, Hosea spread his arms, gesturing to the length of himself. _I’m here, aren’t I?_

“Yeah,” Lenny admitted, “Yeah, you are.”

Hosea’s hand settled on the young man’s back, rubbing slow circles. _Don’t blame yourself._

Lenny frowned at the muddy ground between his boots. He knew he’d always carry a little guilt, no matter what Hosea said, but the conman was right as usual; he was alive and they were safe, and things could have been much, much worse.

“You’ve been kinda like a pa to me,” he said quietly, and Hosea’s hand on his back stilled. “I’m happy you’re okay.”

He looked to Hosea’s face again, and found tear-filled hazel eyes crinkled in a smile. The conman opened his arms hesitantly and Lenny only paused a moment before embracing the man and hugging him tightly. It was a little awkward, a little embarrassing, to be hugging out in the open like this, but then Hosea rested a cheek on his hair and whispered,

“My boy,”

and Lenny figured he was alright with staying like this just a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to tell me it's sappy, I know :p
> 
> Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
